No Nay Never
by Beckett Simpleton
Summary: Based on The Wild Rover by The Progues. Britain, Wales, Scotland, N. Ireland and ROI go out for a drink with the 'Septic Tank.' Alfred ends up having to sing for his supper after forcing down a pint of suspicious looking alcohol. No USUK. Swearing, drinking. I don't own Hetalia or The Wild Rover.


**No Nay Never - The Wild Rover**

**If you haven't heard this song… Go listen NOW! It's written by the same people who wrote Fairy Tale of New York, and you WILL have heard it before, surely. It's an Irish drinking song basically.**

**Arthur is England, Scotland is Andrew (ST Andrew's cross. And it means manly) N. Ireland is Fiona and ROI is Brianna. (Bree-anna - when shortened said Bree-ann, not Brian). Wales is Alwyn. Alfred is of course, America.**

**I'm going to write this in dialect because Scotland, Wales and Ireland have strong dialects, and so does England, and where I come from, people speak using words that crop up in the song, such as 'nay' (no) 'aye' (yes), me instead of 'my' and 'us' (pronounced 'uh-z') when meaning 'me.'**

**(Septic tank is Cockney rhyming slang for 'yank.')**

"Arthur, get us a drink, Lad!" Called Andrew from the other side of the smoky pub. Arthur scowled and whipped his head around to scowl at his copper-haired brother.

"Get your own drink, imbecile!" he called, but bought all his siblings drinks anyway and carried them (with great skill) back to the table.

"I wanted whisky, yeh divvy." Andrew complained, taking his pint gloomily and staring into the inky looking drink.

"Well tough. You should have got your own, shouldn't you?" Arthur muttered, pushing two other pints of Guinness towards his sisters.

"That's not a very ladylike drink ter get yer sisters, yeh daft mug," Andrew chipped in again. Brianna shot him a deathly glare that was clearly to state her equal manliness. And it wasn't just talk either. She was as tough as her three brothers.

"Oh be quiet, she's more entitled to drink it than you are, you arsehole."

Andrew mumbled something under his breath which Arthur ignored. Alwyn coughed quietly, drawing patterns on the condensation on his glass.

"I thought Alfred was meant to get here at seven? Where abouts is he coming from?" asked Arthur's Welsh brother from between his two Irish sisters.

"Yeah, Art, where's yer Septic Tank?" Andrew grumbled. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"You bash Cockney slang constantly, and yet you will resort to using it just to insult Alfred. And he's coming from Hyde Park. That's probably what's taking him so long."

"Aye, let's just hope 'e didn't manage to get up on Speakers' Corner," Andrew mumbled venomously.

Arthur was beginning to lose his patience. "Why are you even here, as you clearly don't want to be around Alfred," he hissed, slamming his drink down on the table.

"Well I'm not gonna say ner tay a chance ter gen out on the piss with me dear brother, am I?"

"You are so vulgar-"

"Yo dudes!"

Andrew groaned as a yellow glow from the street lights outside illuminated the tall figure now standing in the doorway.

"Ach, bloody hell. Speak of the Devil and the Devil will come." Andrew commented, not too quietly either.

"Oh put a bloody sock in it," Arthur waved slightly so that Alfred could locate them in the crowded little pub.

"Dude," Alfred said, taking a seat between Arthur and Fiona, who's hand he shook, grinning, "All this smoke can't be good for your health."

"The smoking ban is going through-"

"What's wrong with a fag, huh?" asked Andrew, leaning over the table to glare at Alfred through his icy blue eyes, a 'fag' clenched firmly between his teeth.

Alfred stared at him, completely stumped. He looked over the topic of conversation, and the cigarette in Andrew's mouth. He turned to Arthur.

"Is this another one of those words-"

"He means a cigarette, not a gay man, Alfred," Arthur sighed.

"I see."

Alfred shook hands with Biranne, flashing his charming smile. Then with Alwyn and finally Andrew, who took the offer as if Alfred were an actual septic tank. The American didn't comment, fully understanding Andrew's unfounded hatred for him.

"You guys don't look very alike, you know," he commented, eyeing Alwyn and Arthur's fair hair, and then Andrew and Fiona, who were both bright ginger with blue eyes, and Brianne, whose hair was jet black.

"We're all half siblings on our mother's side, besides from Brianne, who's Fiona's step-sister on her father's side. They're close, but fight a lot."

"Right, makes sense."

There was an awkward silence that followed, made even more awkward by Andrew's glare across the table over the rim of his glass. Alfred lifted his own glass and eyed it carefully.

"What's this stuff, foamy ink?" he asked, glancing around for an answer. Brianne supplied him with one.

"It's a pint of Guinness, ye eejit. Now drink it and like it."

Alfred raised his eyebrows in alarm. "You're a tough chick, huh?" he said, smiling slightly and cautiously taking a drink. He'd barely sipped the actual drink through the foam before he set his glass down, his upper lip and the tip of his nose coated in cream froth.

"This is an acquired taste, huh?"

Brianne narrowed her eyes. "Aye. So you'd better acquire it quickly, before I acquire it for you." She told him. Alfred laughed nervously, but was drowned out by Andrew's belly laugh.

Alfred just then noticed something which he felt he had to bring up.

"Dude, Arthur, your brother's wearing a _skirt_!" He exclaimed, pointing.

Andrew thumped the table with his huge fist. "It's a bloody kilt, ye moron."

Alwyn coughed for attention. "He does have a slight point though, Brother. You didn't really need to wear it today, did you? You only ever wear it for special occasions."

"Aye, that's right laddie, but I wanted to confuse the Septic Tank."

"Where's the septic tank?" Asked Alfred. Arthur slapped his palm against his forehead while Andrew roared with laughter at his own joke.

"You are the septic tank. He says it to make a mockery of the both of us." Arthur explained.

"Um… I still don't get how I'm a septic tank. That seems kinda rude."

"It's rhyming slang from London meaning Yank, which would be yourself. But then, since it seems my dear brother hates both of us equally and obviously then hates Cockney rhyming slang, he considers it a 'double whammy.'" Arthur elaborated.

"And that it is," Andrew said smugly.

Alwyn sighed. "Well I see what my brother's done, buying the first round. I suppose I'll get us the second?"

"Ah, ta Allie," Smirked Andrew.

"First round?" Asked Alfred.

"Yer getting' neyn 'till ye finish yer first," Brianne told him menacingly. Alfred cottoned on, and took another gulp of his Guinness. It wasn't _that _bad, he supposed.

Alwyn went off to get drinks and Fiona and Brianne struck up a conversation in his absence. Arthur and Alfred drank in silence, with Andrew keeping a close eye on his sisters as their voices began to raise. Upon seeing his sibling return with the drinks, he called for a distraction that was really to stop another fight with his sisters.

"I call fer a song!" he announced. The two Irish girls quietened immediately.

"Oh yes," Alwyn smiled.

"Oh no," muttered Arthur. Andrew nudged him.

"Oh ye and I both kner ye like it, sey stop yer moanin' would ye?" Andrew scolded.

"What song were you planning on-" Alfred started, but Andrew had already taken lead of the song. His singing was flat and loud, but no one seemed to mind. In fact, randomers in the pub, including the barman started to join in, and even Arthur began to sing by the time the first chorus came around.

"I've bin a wild rover fer many a year!

And Ah spent all me money on whisky and beer!

But now I'm returning with gold in great store!

And I promise to play the wild rover no more!"

Alfred sat looking lost as he watched as practically everyone in the vicinity joined in on a chorus that was unfamiliar to him.

"And it's no, nay, never,"

(Alfred jumped as every customer and the barman thumped their fists on the table, rattling the glasses.)

"No nay never no more,

Will I play the wild rover!

No never no more!"

"Um, dudes, can I have a catch up?" he asked, though for once, his voice wasn't heard over verse two.

"I went to an ale house I used to frequent!

And Ah told the landlady 'me money's all spent!'

I asked her for credit, she answered me 'nay!'

"'Said; 'A custom like yours I could get any day!'"

"And it's no, nay never!"

(Alfred had a go at the table thumping, hoping to make it look like he knew the song too.)

"No nay never no more!

Will I play the wild rover!

No never no more!"

Alfred came up with a plan that involved sitting through the next verse and then just singing the chorus, which seemed pretty simple. Then maybe he'd look like less of a 'septic tank' in the crowd of British (and Irish).

"And from my pocket, I took soverei'ns bright!

And the landlady's eyes - they lit up with delight!

She said 'I have whisky and wines of the best!

And the words that I spoke't'ya were only in jest!'"

_Right_, thought Alfred, feeling determined. _This time 'round_!

"And it's no, nay never!"

Alfred nearly broke the table with his enthusiasm, earning himself a few stares as his voice joined the chorus.

"No nay never no more!

Will I play the wild rover!

No never no more!"

"I'll go home the me parents, confess what I've done,

And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son!

And if they'll fergive me, as oft'times before!

Then I promise to play the wild rover no more!"

Alfred really put his heart and soul into things this time around, his face hard in concentration as not to make a fool of himself in such a judging crowd.

"And it's no, nay never!"

(_Yes_! He thought triumphantly. _I have so got that drumming bit nailed_!)

"No nay never no more!

Will I play the wild rover!

No never no more!"

However he was caught by surprise as a very vicious re-take on the chorus started up when he was expecting another verse, though he did catch up.

"And it's no nay _never_!

No nay never no more!

Will I play the wild rover!

No never no more!"

A final round of table abuse, and quiet, where a few random strangers came over to pat him on the back. Alfred swore that through the noise he could hear Andrew say;

"Okay, so he's not too bad, for a Septic Tank!"

**If anyone needs translations, I'll be happy to give them! The Wild Rover is the only song where it makes me think of it actually being sung! And in a pub at that!**

**I was kind of wanting Brianne to be a boy, but then there'd be too many 'A' names so… That's why she's so hard core!**

**I'm planning to write another couple of songfics concerning US and UK for We Can Work it Out by The Beatles and Fairytale of New York by the Progues.**

**Great song! Great excuse to listen to it again and again!**

**I'd love to know what you thought!**


End file.
